


Two for the Realm

by MaxBetta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, SanSan Secret Santa, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxBetta/pseuds/MaxBetta
Summary: Newly crowned Queen Sansa must choose a man to become her king.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, sansan - Relationship
Comments: 26
Kudos: 154





	Two for the Realm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thecatthewall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thecatthewall/gifts).



> This work is a Sansan Secret Santa gift for @catthewall on Tumblr.
> 
> This takes place when Sansa is about 20 years old. There is mention of the Battle of Blackwater, but It does not follow the story of the book or the show.

It had all happened so quickly. Not so long ago, Sansa Stark was but a little girl, mastering embroidery and sneaking pies from the kitchen in her home of Winterfell. Now, she was in King’s Landing, rubbing her palms together and awaiting her coronation. She had always dreamed of someday marrying a righteous man and perhaps being the Lady of a noble house, but Queen was something she had only fantasized about while alone in her chambers. After what happened with Joffrey and then Tyrion, it was not something she had ever thought would be a reality, and yet here she was, in the finest gown in all of Westeros, with hundreds of thousands of people chanting her name in the streets. 

The war had been devastating. Sansa lost almost everyone, only Arya and Jon survived. The men who made it through the battle often later succumbed to the cold. But, the loss was far greater for the Lannisters. Every one of them had been burned in a massive fire that spanned the majority of the city. Cersei, Jaime and Joffrey all deserved their fate. Tyrion, however, had always been kind to Sansa, and the news of his demise had brought her great sorrow. It was in that same meeting with the royal council that she was told of her claim to the iron throne. Because she had been married to Tyrion, and because all Baratheons and Lannisters had perished, she was next in line to rule as Queen. Lord Varys had been in Essos at the time of the great war, and upon his return he saw to it that Sansa was received well by the council, and reminded them that if she was strong enough to survive a betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon and a marriage to the Imp, she was strong enough to rule.

Sansa had tried to refuse it. She was too young, she had no experience as a ruler, and she had no husband. A Queen needed a King in order to rule properly, otherwise she would have to do the job of both, and that sort of work was unbecoming of a lady. For every reason she gave the council, they were prepared with a rebuttal. After nearly an hour of arguing, she was reminded of her mother scolding her for being too outspoken as a child, and how her septa always taught her that a lady must always speak softly and make as little fuss as possible. With a gnawing uncertainty in her stomach, she yielded.

The coronation went as smoothly as could be expected. All members of the royal council were present, as well as any surviving members of the kingsguard. Among them, a brooding Sandor Clegane. He had been a deserter, living off the land, hiding in remote areas of the forest. The Lannisters had put a bounty on his head after he escaped the night of the great Blackwater battle. Because of his desertion, he did not burn to death like the Baratheons, the Lannisters, and his brother, Gregor. He felt great comfort knowing that his brother had died in such a horrible way, but sadness that he was not able to execute him himself. When survivors of the Northern army came upon him in an isolated section of the woods, he surrendered and vowed to pledge his service, and his life, to Sansa Stark, the woman who would soon be queen.

Sansa glanced at him from time to time as she stood before the crowd and received her royal title. He had always been a large and foreboding man. A brutal killer at times. But, he had always been gentle with her. He never harmed her, even when he could have with ease. He looked in her direction and she quickly shifted her gaze elsewhere. There were many decisions to be made, and urgently. Sansa would have to decide what kind of ruler she would be right away. She was determined to make the people follow her out of love rather than fear. And, because duty required it, she was determined to find a husband.

The very next morning, a boy knocked on the door of Sandor Clegane’s chambers. When the man they called “The Hound” answered, the boy hurriedly handed him a scroll and then scurried away. Sandor inspected the wax seal, a direwolf. He cracked it open and found that it was an invitation to meet with the new queen and discuss strategies for making her a successful ruler. He tossed the paper onto the floor and huffed, straightening his tunic and biting his bottom lip. 

“Little Bird, always so bloody formal.” 

He ran his hands roughly through his hair a bit, took a few last swigs of red wine, and made his way to her requested meeting place, the dining hall. When Sandor arrived, Sansa was already sitting with a cup of wine and a small plate of fruit and cheese. He entered without saying a word, gave an awkward nod, and took a seat. Several moments passed and no words were spoken between the two of them. He found himself nervous. Give him a battlefield and a sword and he was calm as can be, but put him in a room alone with Sansa Stark and he was timid as a mouse.

Sansa finally broke the silence between them.

“Thank you for coming, Ser, on such short notice.”

He exhaled forcefully through his nose. “Don’t bloody call me Ser.”

“Oh yes, I forgot. I beg your pardon.”

“Enough with your pleasantries, can we get this over with? Why am I here? The war is over, what is there to discuss strategy about?”

Sansa gulped down another swallow of wine and then set her chalice on the table. She stood and began to pace the room back and forth nervously, her hands clasped behind her back.

“As you are aware, I am now Queen of the seven realms. With that title comes certain obligations. I must serve my people well, I must lead in times of crisis, and…”

She was going to have to say it.

“...I must produce heirs.”

Sandor poured himself a cup of wine and tossed it back in one gulp. “That’s none of my fucking business.”

Sansa stopped pacing and looked at him in earnest. “What if I wanted it to be.”

“You want for me to fuck off on a horse and find a man to be your husband?”

“No.”

It took Sandor a while to catch on to what she was saying, much longer than Sansa had thought it would. He was a strong and brutal man, that was true, but she knew that he was also clever when he was not upside down with drink.

Sandor pretended as if he did not know what she was asking of him, but his face betrayed him. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I am talking about. I know you. I am comfortable with you...to a point. I don’t want some strange man chosen for me. Just because someone has a royal title doesn’t mean they are a good man. Look at Joffrey!” She took a deep breath and smoothed the skirt of her dress, then continued. “If I am to marry out of duty, then I shall at least be able to pick my husband.”

“I am not a husband. I’m a dog. I rip men to shreds and then piss on their corpses. Remember?”

“I remember. I also remember that you offered to keep me safe during the battle. And you stopped Trant when he was hurting me. And you stopped me from what I wanted to do to Joffrey the time he made me look at my father’s head on a pike.”

He spun the cup on the table over and over in an effort to distract himself. “You remember too much.”

“Please Sandor. Don’t make me marry some awful Dornishman. Or someone from Essos, or who knows where else. You and I have survived together in the past. Could we not do it again? For the realm?”

He was silent for a long time, then finally spoke. “If you want to waste your life away with a man that has nothing to offer you, so be it. But I’ll not take part in a spectacle. I’ll agree under three conditions. One, it is done privately. Two, I won’t have to wear one of those nonsense crowns. And three, if any man calls me ‘Ser’ I’m allowed to gut him right where he stands.”

“I will agree to those terms. We will be wed in private. You will wear no crown. And if any man calls you ‘Ser,’ he deserves to be gutted, because your official title will be King.”

“I don’t want to be called ‘King,’ either.”

“Too late.” She flashed him a playful smile. “I’ll meet with Varys later today and sort out all the details.”

“I don’t need details, I just need to know when and where so we can be done with it.” He stood and swiftly exited the room before Sansa could say another word.

Less than a fortnight later, Sansa and Sandor were married in private in a small, forgotten room of the castle. When their skin touched during the handfasting, Sansa was sure she could feel him trembling. He draped her shoulders with a cloak that was made special in secret, three black dogs on a gold background, the Clegane sigil. When it came time for the kiss, Sandor was brief, pushing his lips against hers just long enough for it to be seen, then taking a step backward and looking everywhere but at Sansa. Her cheeks flushed when they kissed. She knew he was capable of being gentle, but he didn’t show it often.

After the ceremony, they dined together in the great hall. Sandor poured himself cup after cup of Dornish red wine. Sansa ate her meal daintily, her stomach nervous for what was to come. When their plates from the last course were empty, Sansa stood.

“I shall retire to our chamber now.”

Sandor regarded her with skeptical eyes. He felt that at any moment the jape would be up. Sansa would laugh and reveal that it had all been in jest, for someone as kind and beautiful as her would never marry a monster such as him. But, that moment never came. He arose and followed her to the bedchamber that they now shared as husband and wife. It was filled with luxurious fabrics, animal skin rugs, and lit candles adorned every flat surface. Closing the door gently, he glanced at the bed to find Sansa there, fully clothed and lying down. Her eyes and mouth were closed and her arms were at her sides. She looked stiff as a corpse.

He watched her curiously. “What are you doing?”

“I’m offering myself to you. It is my duty as your wife to…”

In a sudden fit of rage, Sandor grabbed a vase from the nearest table and hurled it at the wall across the room, smashing it into pieces. “Stop that!”

Sansa sat up, alarmed at his reaction. “Why are you so angry? Surely you remember that we would be expected to...to...produce heirs.”

“You read that in one of your books, did you? Is that what the knights say to the fair maidens?”

“Well, no.”

“Of course not!”

Sansa chose her words carefully so as not to anger him further. “Are you saying that you wish for me to be more romantic?”

Sandor’s face turned crimson and he shifted his eyes to the floor. “We will share the bed but I will not touch you. Not tonight.”

He got into the bed beside her, fully clothed, and laid on his side facing away from her.

Sansa stood and removed a few items of clothing, then returned to the bed. She was a bit relieved, but a small part of her was disappointed. 

Hours later, while the sky was still black, Sansa’s eyes fluttered open. At some point in the night Sandor had turned over, they were facing one another now. He was awake, too. The faint glow from the few remaining candles flickered upon his face and she could see that his mask of contempt was gone. He was not the hound in that moment, he was only Sandor. His eyes looked vulnerable, almost sweet. She reached out with her right hand and cupped his cheek. It was in that instant that she realized just how much she had wanted to be with him. She decided to be brave and speak.

“Please touch me. Husband.”

After a few moments of hesitation, Sandor reached over and stroked the outside of her arm from shoulder to wrist. His touch was tender, almost soothing. He then touched the side of her face, and leaned in closer so that he could press his lips to hers. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her body into his. It wasn’t long before they were feverishly kissing one another. It was as if Sandor had been thirsty all his life, and Sansa’s lips were his first taste of water. He ran his hands along the curves of her body, taking time to caress her breasts and squeeze gently at her buttocks. While his hands explored, Sansa covered his face with kisses, marking every one of his scars with her love for him. After a brief pause to remove his clothing, Sandor returned and was over her, supporting his weight on his hands. Sansa reached down and touched his manhood, moving the skin back and forth gently with her hand. She was unsure of how to please him, but the change in his breath as she touched him gave her a small bit of confidence.

When he finally entered her, it was not surprising at all that Sansa felt pain, but after a few seconds it subsided and was replaced with feelings of contentment. Their bodies fit together nicely, even though she was much smaller than him. She could tell he was trying so hard to be gentle, making sure to never move too quickly. When he was finished, he kissed Sansa’s forehead and cradled her to him as if she were the most precious thing on Earth. She knew that she had chosen Sandor because, to her, he was safety in a world of violence. The way he was holding her in that moment made her think that perhaps he felt safe with her as well. Safe to be himself.

The following day, the King and Queen of Westeros greeted the public from a balcony high above the streets of King’s Landing. They would rule together for many years, until the crown was passed to the eldest of their seven children, Eddard. The rest of their lives would be spent living in a small castle on the opposite side of the sea, where dogs can roam and little birds can fly free.


End file.
